


Invocation

by LoversAntiquities



Series: Shameless [23]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praying to Castiel (Supernatural), prayer kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:14:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28816914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: Dean has never been one to pray lightly, but Castiel has taught him the meaning of faith, of asking for help even when he doesn’t think he’s worthy. Though, Dean has found a new reason to pray—to absolutely torture Castiel.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Shameless [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/464476
Comments: 17
Kudos: 230





	Invocation

Dean has never been one to pray lightly, but Castiel has taught him the meaning of faith, of asking for help even when he doesn’t think he’s worthy. In years past, Castiel has always tended to him with little hesitation, has flown to him even for something minor, just so he could see Dean once again, to bask in his presence, his soul. The other angels balked at him, questioned him—and all Castiel could ever say was that he was _following orders_ , tending to his charge.

Years in the future, and Dean has found a new reason to pray—to absolutely torture Castiel.

Granted, most of his prayers are out of frustration, begging for Castiel to come home, but only when tensions run high. On days like this, where Dean is halfway across the country and Castiel is sitting along the side of the road, Castiel seriously wonders if Dean is really and truly sane. Though, his words aren’t exactly friendly—they’re alluring, like his lips are right there, whispering filthy things into his ear.

Rain pings off of the Continental’s roof and slides down the windshield, so noisy that Castiel can’t hear himself think, can’t hear the radio. Cars pull off onto the shoulder to join him, visibility reduced down to nothing. In the midst of the storm, he’s alone—and Dean is with him, breathing, existing.

 _Praying_.

“ _Hey, Cas_ ,” Dean whispers, his words traveling straight to Castiel’s gut. “ _Know you’re out there all alone, so can you take some time? Really let yourself feel good, Cas, know you’re dying without me_.”

This man—Dean Winchester will be the absolute death of him.

“ _I’m alone too,_ ” Dean says. His voice dips, like it does when Castiel first touches him when they’re— _Oh_. “ _Sam’s at the library. Said I wasn’t feeling it, so I stayed. But I’ve been thinking about you all day_.” A breath, noisy and strained. Arousal stirs in his slacks; Castiel shutters the ignition and pinches his eyes shut, listening—reveling. “ _Can’t get you outta my head,_ ” Dean mutters, devolving into a moan. “ _The way you fucked me last night, haven’t come that hard in my life. Didn’t think I was gonna wake up after, felt that good_.”

 _Dean_ , Castiel thinks. He remembers last night, remembers how pliant Dean was after Castiel fingered him for the longest time, wringing Dean through several near-orgasms before finally giving in and shoving inside. Dean came like a faucet, eyes rolled back and body trembling, and all Castiel heard was the litany of his name, all he felt was Dean’s soul reaching out to him, knotting together with his Grace.

That time, he felt something in his Grace give, the unbridled need to take Dean at his core, to mark him again. That need still exists now, separated by thousands of miles, and he can’t sate it. Not exactly—not like he wants, but close enough, with Dean’s prayer in his head.

Dean’s breathing quickens, verging on a whine. Castiel can imagine him now, spread out on a cheap mattress with the door locked, briefs around an ankle. Light, Castiel palms the hardening ridge of his cock, lip between his teeth.

“ _Should see your face when you’re in me_ ,” Dean mutters between breaths. “ _Look like you’ve found religion. Like this is the best you’ll ever get._ ” A laugh, rich yet somehow brittle. “ _Don't know if it’s lucky or a shame you ended up with me_.”

“Lucky,” Castiel says to no one. Thunder cracks; a semi barrels past, splashing water up onto the side of his car. Tentative, Castiel undoes his belt buckle and pops a button, sinking his hand into his slacks. Not as good as Dean’s hand, but it works. Licking a stripe up his palm, he strokes himself while Dean talks, soft and slow, nowhere near ready.

“ _You feel so good_ ,” Dean rumbles. “ _Wish you could feel what you do to me, how good you are. Never felt this good with anyone else, just you_.”

Castiel bites back a moan. He has little frame of reference, but whatever Dean gives him is always the best thing Castiel has ever experienced, whether platonic or decidedly otherwise. Kisses are his favorite. Next, when Dean rides him, sprawled out over his lap, muscles straining to keep upright; most of the time, his thighs can’t stand the stress, and Castiel holds him, uses him, and Dean loves every second of it.

In his hand, his cock leaks, wetting his grip. “ _Feels like you’re here_ ,” Dean starts again, breathy. “ _Feel like you’re with me. Got my fingers in my ass, thinking about you_.”

“Dean,” Castiel breathes, but Dean continues on, mirthful in his ear.

“ _Remember that time in Tombstone_?” Dean laughs, and oh, Castiel does. “ _Rode you with my hat and chaps on. Didn’t think you’d ever stop touching me. Swear you’ve got a fetish just as bad as I do_.”

Castiel stifles a laugh. At least he admits it. Slow, he strokes up the length of his cock, wishing he had more space to spread out. But the rain will only last for a few more minutes, and he has no clue how long Dean plans to keep this up, or how long he’s been at it before he sent up his prayer.

“ _We should film it sometime_ ,” Dean says, winded. He must be out of it, or safe enough to admit it. In the past when Castiel brought up even the faintest notion of filming him, or taking pictures, Dean brushed him off with a flush high on his cheeks. Dean wants it, despite his shame, and Castiel wants to show him how beautiful he is in the throes—but Dean won’t ever speak of it outside of the bedroom, until now. “ _Know you’re kinky like that, but I—I wanna show you how good you look. Wanna fuck you, get my fingers in you so you can watch later—_ ”

The storm roars. Thunder mutes his moan, a sudden rush of heat spiraling to Castiel’s gut. Normally, Dean likes Castiel on top, but some days—when emotions run hot and Dean feels like he’s losing control, Castiel will let Dean do what he wills. But never outside of that—and now, Dean wants him on his back, and Castiel wouldn't say no if Dean asked.

The few times Dean has taken him, Castiel barely felt it, too caught up in watching Dean’s soul to comfort him, to ease the burden on his shoulders. The night before they took on Amara, Dean wept into his shoulder, and Castiel consoled him, his pleasure thrown to the side in favor of kissing Dean, of letting him know that he was loved. But now—now, the world isn’t bearing down on them, Dean wants Castiel just as Castiel wants him, without repercussions, without consequences.

 _Dean wants me_ , Castiel thinks, tugging his cock. _Dean wants to be inside me_.

“ _Fuck—Cas, this ain’t gonna take long_ ,” Dean huffs a laugh. Admittedly, Castiel won’t last long either, not at this rate. Images of Dean between his legs flash before his eyes, the ghost of Dean’s fingers slipping inside him, stroking just where Castiel likes to press when the roles reverse. Dean responds so beautifully—would Castiel feel the same, given the chance? “ _Don’t know if you’re listening, but—God, I’m so fuckin’ hard for you. Want you here, want you in me. Your cock’s my fucking salvation—_ ”

Blasphemy recoils through Castiel’s Grace. Gripping the steering wheel, Castiel clamps his fingers around the base of his cock, the sudden _want_ and _need_ nearly driving him off the cliff. “Don’t,” he begs, but Dean plows on, chanting absolute filth to him.

“ _Feel like I’m holy with you, like I’m worthy, like I’m fucking—like I’m a saint. Wanna worship you. You make me wanna get on my knees every time I see you, ‘cause you’re that good. My own personal savior_.”

Dean’s breathing hastens, and Castiel joins him, half-bent over the wheel, his eyes pinched shut. Heat spirals through his veins, and his Grace roils, desperate for touch, for the release he can only find when Dean’s close. Because his body may respond in a way Dean is familiar with, but his Grace needs completion as well, needs to converge with Dean’s soul until he forgets who and where he is, until he becomes a part of Dean, and Dean burrows into him in turn.

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean prays, heavy, labored. Biting his lip, Castiel listens to the sounds he makes, every little breath, every whimper, every sigh. And he joins Dean, his voice drowned out in the rain, his chest heaving, lungs begging for air. Dean repeats his name, a mantra, growing faster, faster, deeper—then, ecstasy. Through the prayer, Castiel feels him come, and he follows, his cock leaping in his grip, come spilling between his fingers. Dean is a religion himself, and when they reunite—when they return home—Castiel intends to worship him, and maybe, he’ll let Dean return the favor.

Dean pants obscenities into his ear, the prayer just as strong as ever. Slow, Castiel strokes himself, coaxing the last of his come free; he sucks the mess off his fingers, wishing it was Dean’s cock instead, wishing he could taste Dean on his tongue. In his back pocket, his phone rings, buzzing between him and the seat; pulling his fingers free, he fishes for the device. A curl of _want_ spirals through his Grace as he answers the call. “Hello?”

“You get all that?” Dean laughs, his voice vibrant, just as rich as it was seconds before.

Smiling, Castiel swallows the come lingering on his tongue. “I trust you’ll follow through?”

“Oh yeah.” Fabric rustles. In the periphery, Castiel hears the slick noise of Dean palming himself, and in his slacks, his cock leaps. “Wanna know how I’d do it?”

 _Always_. Leaning his head back, Castiel closes his eyes, and listens. “Tell me, Dean.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I have no idea where this came from, as I say for all my porny non-plotty stuff, so here you go! The lack of prayer kink in fandom and the fact that I don't write masturbation enough needs to be rectified.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


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